


poison & wine

by blackkat



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [65]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M, Merman Orochimaru, only not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 17:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12462441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Some stories, even when they prove to be true, just aren't meant to be shared.





	poison & wine

**Author's Note:**

> For the Sumigakure community Halloween challenge! The prompt I picked was #15: This town is not what it seems, and the plot was inspired by a lovely anon on my Tumblr.

Sakumo knows all of the rumors, all the whispers. He’s heard the way people call the fisherman at the far end of the bay insane, the way any mention of him is accompanied by eyerolling and exasperation, sometimes fond but usually not. People are superstitious, but there's also a widespread acknowledgement that anything that blatantly strange simply _can't_ be real.

 Even so, Sakumo's been chasing legends long enough to know that those are sometimes the most promising.

Carefully, Sakumo ties off his boat to the trailing branches of a tree, then checks his watch. Still early morning, and the light is just starting to play off the water, gold against the deep green of the shadows. Trailing moss hides him from view of the small inlet, barely five meters across, but he’s been told by the locals that this is where the mermaid Jiraiya keeps insisting is real supposedly comes.

It’s more likely than not that this is just another fairy tale spun by a half-mad fisherman who’s spent too many years alone, and Sakumo has encountered his fair share of those over the years. This story, though—it’s drawn him from the very first time he heard it, and maybe that’s the romantic in him. The tale is a pretty one—a young fisherman gets stranded in the middle of the bayou, only to be saved by a beautiful mermaid with long dark hair, then builds his house at the very edge of the water and keeps coming back, day after day, all the while spinning stories of a beautiful creature living in the wild. Sakumo couldn’t resist, couldn’t even _begin_ to; he’d packed his bags the moment he heard about it.

Settling back against the stern, Sakumo does one last check to make sure he isn’t overly visible and then sternly orders himself to relax. No camera, not today; all he wants is some hint that he isn’t chasing—well. Not ghosts, because Sakumo has chased _plenty_ of those over the years, even if they're mostly Kakashi’s territory now, given that he’s the one with the psychic boyfriend. But fantasies, probably, and there's every likelihood that they are, but Sakumo still has faith. He has to, in this job. There are always going to be things that can be explained away, but Sakumo has to keep his focus on the ones that can't.

He closes his eyes, rocked by the faint lap of the water. The bayou is alive with birdsong, and the stretching sunlight is warm where it reaches through the trees. It’s likely the fault of the redeye he took to get here, but Sakumo feels languid, lazy. The town is a quiet one, far from anywhere, and this distant from it there's no sound of humanity, no sign of people anywhere. Just the water, the birds, the trees, and Sakumo stays perfectly still and just…listens, evening out his breathing. Kakashi’s still young and impatient enough that he hates this part of the job, but Sakumo's come to find he doesn’t mind it nearly as much as he used to.

 

The quiet splash of paddles in the water draws Sakumo out of his pleasant languor, and he lifts his head from the bark of the leaning tree, moving slowly as he ducks down to look through the hanging curtain of moss.

There's a rowboat approaching, small and weatherworn, and the man in it matches the description Sakumo was given in town—big and broad with long white hair, dark eyes scanning the inlet carefully. As he approaches he racks his oars, lets his boat drift to a stop near the edge of the open area, and throws a rope over a tangle of protruding roots. With a grunt, he heaves himself out, climbing carefully across the roots and sliding down until he’s sitting near the bottom.

For a long moment, Jiraiya does nothing, just looks out across the sunlit water with a small smile on his face. Then, that smile deepening, he leans forward, dipping one hand into the water up to his elbow before he pulls back.

Something else comes up with him.

Sakumo's breath catches in his throat at the sight of a pale, long-fingered hand emerging from the water, clasping Jiraiya’s. it leads to a pale arm, smooth shoulders, a head of long dark hair that fans out through the water like a spill of oil across the surface. Jiraiya catches a second hand and pulls, and the figure slides up from the depths, one arm curling around Jiraiya’s neck for leverage. He pulls the creature up, sitting back, and he settles across Jiraiya’s thighs, long, scaled tail still in the water. A snake’s tail, rather than a fish’s, and it’s thick and gleaming sleekly in the light, black scales with a sheen of deep violet to match the markings around golden eyes.

He’s wearing earrings, Sakumo realizes with a start, catching a glimpse of them through thick, soaked hair as the man tosses the strands back over his shoulder. Blue stone, magatama that end in sharp points, clearly manmade, and they sway as he leans in.

“Jiraiya,” he says, low and almost teasing. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

“I'm not the one who’s late, bastard,” Jiraiya retorts, but big hands settle on the other man’s hips, right where pale skin changes to dark scales. He pulls the man in, looping an arm around his back, and their kiss is slow and careful and gentle enough to make Sakumo look away, feeling like he’s intruding.

“I missed you, Orochimaru,” Jiraiya admits, and there's a smile behind the words. Sakumo looks back just in time to see him cup Orochimaru’s cheek, and his expression is fond and a little tired. “No more trips to the city for a while, I promise.”

“You’d best keep that one,” Orochimaru warns, though there's no heat behind it. He twists his fingers into Jiraiya’s hair and kisses him again, then pulls back. “Come swim with me,” he says, and it sounds like an invitation to do far more than swimming, coupled with the smirk that tilts his lips.

Jiraiya snorts, but he’s already stripping off his shirt. “You’d better keep me from drowning, bastard,” he threatens, “ _or_ getting eaten. I've got a present, and you're not going to get it if I'm dead.”

“Well, I suppose if it’s for material gain I could be convinced,” Orochimaru retorts, slyly wicked, and lets his body curve backwards. He slides into the water with barely a ripple, and Jiraiya dives in after him. They surface together near the center of the open water, and Orochimaru curls himself around Jiraiya, their third kiss deep and passionate. Then, with a low laugh, he dives underneath the water, and Jiraiya rolls his eyes, mutters a curse, and starts stroking for the heavy overhang of the trees. A ripple of dark scales proceeds him, but a moment later they're both gone, only the gently bobbing boat and Jiraiya’s abandoned shirt to prove they were there at all.

Sakumo breathes out, slow and steady and careful, and sits back. For a moment he eyes his notebook and pen, but—

The kisses. The careful touches. The way they each smiled, familiar and fond even as they hid it behind teasing and insults.

There's nothing in Sakumo that’s capable of doing anything to ruin that.

With a faintly rueful smile, he resigns himself to finding something else to write about for his book’s next chapter, and picks up the oars. Some stories, even when they prove to be true, just aren’t meant to be shared.

 

The house is small and weatherworn, just like the boat pulled up on the riverbank a few meters away, but the door is heavy oak when Sakumo raps his knuckles against it. There's a clatter inside, a voice calling “One second!”, and then quick footsteps. A moment later, the door swings open, and Jiraiya blinks, one eyebrow rising.

“Can I help you?” he asks curiously.

Sakumo gives him a smile that he tries to keep from sliding into sheepishness. “I'm sorry to bother you so late,” he offers. “My name is Sakumo Hatake. I'm a writer.”

Jiraiya’s expression doesn’t change, but dark eyes harden just a little. “Oh?” Jiraiya asks, and it’s amiable on the surface. “Something dragged you out to a boring little town like this?”

“I saw you earlier,” Sakumo admits, holding his gaze. “In the bayou. I didn’t mean to butt in on something personal, but that doesn’t change the fact that I did. I'm sorry, but I also wanted to tell you that your secret’s safe with me.”

There's a long, long pause. Jiraiya watches him with a careful, weighing stare, one hand curled around the edge of the door. Then, slowly, he breathes out, and tips his head in a nod. “Thank you,” he says, and smiles wryly. “Most people around here have been listening to my stories for long enough that they write them off, but a larger audience might not.”

Misdirection, then. Sakumo had wondered why Jiraiya would be spreading tales when it might put his lover at risk, but clearly they're a smokescreen, expected and easily provided. With a smile, Sakumo inclines his head. “My thoughts, as well. Sorry again. I just…couldn’t leave without saying something.”

Quiet footsteps draw his eye to the room behind Jiraiya, and Sakumo's eyes widen. Orochimaru, wrapped in a short grey robe, pale feet bare against the floorboards. He looks Sakumo over as he approaches, and when Jiraiya turns to look at him he holds out a hand.

The concern doesn’t quite leave Jiraiya’s face, but he slides his fingers through Orochimaru’s and pulls him close. Orochimaru keeps his eyes fixed on Sakumo, thoughtful and sharp at once, and then he inclines his head and says, “The care is appreciated.”

Sakumo is still trying to process the sight of him here, snake’s tail gone, still eerie and supernatural in the twilight but able to pass for human if one doesn’t look too closely. He swallows, because he’s seen beautiful creatures but Orochimaru is easily the loveliest, and nods in return. “Of course,” he manages, and curses himself a little. He hasn’t been this tongue-tied around a pretty face—and a _taken_ one, at that—since he graduated high school.

Unexpectedly, Jiraiya snorts. He looks from Sakumo to Orochimaru and back, then takes a step further into the house and swings the door all the way open.

“Dinner’s almost ready, if you don’t mind fish,” he says, and there's a wealth of warm humor in his face. “Or Orochimaru’s table manners.”

Orochimaru rolls his eyes. “My table manners are fine. _Yours_ , however—”

“At least I know what to do with a fork,” Jiraiya sing-songs over his shoulder as he vanishes into the kitchen, where the smell of frying fish is evident.

With a sound of deep, wordless offense, Orochimaru glares after him. “That was _ten years ago_ ,” he hisses, but Jiraiya just laughs. Sakumo can't fight a smile at the thought, either, though he at least tries to hide it when Orochimaru gives him a warning look.

“Ten years?” Sakumo asks, trying to push down his humor. Kakashi used to love The Little Mermaid, when he was a child; that’s where his thoughts are stalled, and whether it’s accurate or not he gets the feeling Orochimaru won't appreciate the comparison.

Orochimaru pauses, the curtain of his dark hair hiding his expression for a moment. “Ten years,” he agrees, and it’s likely meant to sound offhand but doesn’t quite make the cut. A glance back at Sakumo and he pauses, considering. That golden gaze, Sakumo thinks, is one of the things that would keep him from passing as human; it’s strange, alien, calculating in a way humans usually aren’t when they look at each other. It’s a gaze that says they could be food if they weren’t so interesting, and Sakumo is unnerved by it, of course, but—

“Will you come in?” Orochimaru asks, and there's an edge of a smirk on his mouth, pale fingers offered in invitation just a few inches out of Sakumo's reach. Sakumo looks from the hand to his face, and then over his shoulder to where Jiraiya is watching, leaning against the edge of the kitchen counter. Jiraiya grins at him, halfway to a challenge even if it’s full of humor, and Sakumo _should_ resist, every bit of good sense requires him to, but Sakumo realizes with a start that he doesn’t _want_ to.

He takes a step in, lets the door fall shut behind him.

(What are the odds, he wonders as the beautiful monster in the shadows smiles, that this is a story he can finally be a part of?)


End file.
